Chapter 10 – And Monsters Who Once Were Angels

Gabriel picked himself up rather painfully, casting a wary and interested eye around their surroundings. Osaka, Japan, if he was any judge. Fantastic. Who knew how long they'd been bouncing around the ether like pinballs, legs nearly ripped out at the joints from being bound together. The youngest archangel would have been pissed at the Winchesters if he wasn't slightly impressed that they'd gotten one over on him.

A furious growl from behind him had Gabriel turning to see his brother struggling up to his feet as well. Gabriel smirked. "Hey there, oni-san. Whoops, I mean, oniisan."

Leveling a glare at him that could have set the whole island on fire, Lucifer grabbed Gabriel's shoulder and took off at top speed with a flap of his ruffled wings. Predictably, though, only a couple of empty cells were there to meet them a few seconds later.

"Great. That's just great. Oh, by the way," the Devil snarled. "Talking with Winchesters? Great plan."

"Hah! Dude, they totally ass-reamed us! I mean, I know I should be angry, but damn!"

"This isn't a game!" Lucifer shoved him out of the way hard enough that the younger archangel hit the iron bars, and then stormed into Dean's cell to examine the sigil in dried blood.

Gabriel couldn't help but laugh, though, shaking his head. "That's like, twice they've pulled that trick on you!"

Shadows crept into the room, choking out the light of the torches—a product of Lucifer's growing, unquenchable rage. But Gabriel was too delighted with the humans knocking his brother's pride down a peg or two that he couldn't even care. After the smack Lucifer talked, the Trickster was thrilled at this rare opportunity to see him bested.

"Shut your mouth, Gabriel."

"You and Michael should have shirts made!" the archangel hooted. "They could say 'The Winchesters kicked my ass…again'!"

"I said… shut up. Do not make me say it again."

"I mean, are you ever not going to fall for that? So much for being all cunning and shit-"

"Gabriel!"

But the cry wasn't an angry shout from Lucifer. It was Cas, and his voice was laced with pain. Gabriel froze, staring at his brother in alarm. The angel was standing ramrod straight, arms slack at his sides. His chin was tilted up—Gabriel could almost see Lucifer standing behind him, blade at his throat.

Neither of them moved or spoke for a moment, until Castiel murmured, "He wants me to tell you... he doesn't think you're funny."

"Whoa. Luci," Gabriel said, all humor dropping from his tone now. "Let him go. Chill, bro. Come on."

Castiel twitched, a shuddering gasp ripping from his throat as Gabriel saw a trickle of blood appear at his neck. The archangel's hands clenched, face darkening.

"He says…" Cas went on, "he's tired of your… disrespect."

"I'm supposed to respect this?" Gabriel demanded, gesturing at the angel imprisoned in his own body. Then he held his hands up to show surrender. "Stop it, Lucifer, I'm done. Okay? You win."

Castiel's head tipped back farther, the angel blinking rapidly in an obvious attempt to hide his fear. "He says if he has to tell you one more time, I'll... I'll be the one to... suffer. He'll-" The angel cut off again, exhaling sharply as his eyes widened. "No, don't! Lucif-"

Gabriel could only watch in horror as his little brother screamed through lips pressed tightly closed, the sound muffled as though Lucifer had one hand over the angel's mouth. A jagged gash glowing brilliant blue-white with grace appeared on Cas's chest, then another across his collarbone. The angel wavered, then collapsed.

"No!" Gabriel shouted, leaping forward to catch his brother before he hit the floor. "Cas! Damn it, Lucifer, stop this!" But Lucifer wasn't listening, while Cas kept up the muffled screaming. The archangel desperately started to extend a healing touch, but stopped when he realized with horror that it would do no good. The wounds were being inflicted from inside Cas's head; there was literally nothing Gabriel could do but hold onto his imprisoned brother and watch him be tortured.

Another bloody, glowing wound appeared, this time on Castiel's cheek, and the angel's body writhed in a spasm of pain. Shit, this was Gabriel's fault; if only he had kept his mouth shut, resisted the temptation to poke his vengeful brother. For a second, Castiel's eyes burned into Gabriel's, and the agony they held would haunt the sickened archangel forever. Then, the light disappeared as Cas's consciousness was yanked back down into the abyss of whatever prison Lucifer was keeping him inside of.

Instead of emerging, though, Lucifer remained inside, as the vessel fell completely slack.

"Cas?" Gabriel tentatively asked again. "What's happening, buddy, talk to me! Keep the line open."

"Gabriel…"

"I'm here, kiddo."

There was a pause, then a scream deep inside Cas's mind. Gabriel gave the body in his arms a shake with a useless shout of frustration. "Damn it, Lucifer!" "What's going on, Castiel?" Still no answer, and Gabriel suddenly realized that he was feeling a wave of shame wafting from his brother's mind. Oh, hell no. He wasn't about to let his little brother go on thinking he should be ashamed of himself just for getting beaten up by some bully a million times stronger than him.

"Cas, listen to me," he urged. "Lucifer's a DICK, and he doesn't know you at all. Whatever he's telling you, it's nothing but a load of bull. Look… you let him in. You sacrificed everything to fight for what you love, and that's something special, kiddo. Hell, when it was down to the wire, I chose to run off instead of fight for what mattered. So don't for one second think you're weak now, just because THE DEVIL has a hold on you—and only because you gave him one. So you're not that weak, you're just that selfless."

"I…"

"Don't shut me out, Castiel. I'm not gonna think any less of you just from hearing what's going on. You got nothing to be ashamed of, kiddo, but I can't help if I don't know what he's doing. You're my brother. Let me help."

There was another long pause, then finally, like a badly tuned radio, Gabriel was able to hear the static filled audio of what his brother was enduring.

"-make it clear to you, Castiel… just because I need your power right now doesn't mean I need you in one piece."

"Please... I had… nothing to do with it..."

A harsh grunt, the sound of a body being kicked, and a muffled groan. Gabriel's hands tightened around his little brother.

"And those Winchesters, have I got plans for them."

"They can help fight. Please, just leave them alone."

"Still so loyal, Castiel?" More brutal kicks, accenting every sentence and followed by choked grunts of pain. "Even after everything, you still cling to these humans who would turn on you in a heartbeat. You think they care about you? YOU? A broken, mangled excuse for an angel, who on his BEST day was little more than a tool. When was the last time you ever did anything for them?"

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Don't listen to him, Cas. You saved Sam. You risked getting on LUCIFER'S shit list to save him. And before that, you jumped into Lucifer's Cage to protect him, you held the Devil off to give Deano and Gigantor a chance. And you ain't some tool, either. You proved that a long time ago. Those guys—can't believe I'm about to say this—they really do care about you, dumbasses though they are."

Castiel didn't say anything, only coughed-a wet, gurgling sound that sounded horrifically thick with blood. Still, Gabriel could almost feel the younger angel's defiant glare, amazingly still able to fight. He heard Lucifer chuckle, tone shifting from fury to a much more lethal calm. Silky and terrifying, he murmured,

"Oh, little brother. Keep up that spunky attitude. You'll see soon enough. As soon as Amara is dead, they'll turn on you. But they'll lose. And then…"

He chuckled again, then Gabriel heard Castiel shift with a soft, shuddering moan. In his mind's eye, he imagined Lucifer was probably doing that creepy face-stroking thing that he did.

"Then," Lucifer went on, "I won't even kill them. And at first, they might think you saved them again, but after…"

"After… what?"

"After the things I'm going to do to them, using YOUR vessel, they'll never be able to look at you again. But here. Let me show you."

"…Dean. Dean, run. No! LUCIFER, NO! Please, don't do this- mmph!"

Gabriel's eyes narrowed with murderous fury, watching as Lucifer returned to the surface with a smug look. The younger archangel dropped him on the floor with a shove and jumped to his feet.

"You dick," he snarled, backing away as Castiel shut him out of his mind once again. Whatever Lucifer was making him see, it was clearly too horrific for the warrior angel to share. Gabriel had some pretty good guesses what it would entail. "You hate him that much, you'd damage your own body?"

Lucifer shrugged, also standing up. There was an icy malevolence burning in his eyes. "Well, you always were a… visual learner."

Only the fact that Gabriel had no prayer of winning a fight against Lucifer at the moment kept him from leaping at his older brother. He got the message, loud and clear.

"He hasn't tried to escape," Gabriel seethed. "He doesn't even want to escape! All your shit, and he just takes it, because he wants to fight Amara. He's keeping that body together so that you can fight! And all you can do is torture the kid? If you can't appreciate the help, you could at least just leave him alone!"

The older archangel's eyes glinted slightly as they narrowed on Gabriel, but then he turned away. "The Hellhound will bring the Winchesters back again."

"You know, you used to be better than this."

Lucifer paused. He turned halfway back, asking over his shoulder in a chillingly casual voice, "You are on my team. Right, Gabriel?"

The Trickster sighed, stepping around so that he was facing Lucifer head on. He burned with intensity, searching the archangel's face for any sign of Cas. "You're my brother," he said, with both his physical voice and his true one, speaking deep into Cas's mind. "I'm with you."

I'm with you.

"Damn it, I want my Baby."

Dean glared out the dirty windshield and pushed the accelerator a bit harder, for all the good that did in this stupid junker they'd had to steal. Of course Sam couldn't understand the bond between man and car, and shot him an unsympathetic bitch-face from the passenger seat.

"Just be glad we're alive and out of there."

Well, excuse him if he wasn't feeling particularly lucky or grateful or whatever the hell… They still didn't have Cas back.

On the other hand, it'd been a break that the dungeons were relatively unguarded, with all the demons on the search for Amara and these "Hand of God" things. Plus, now they knew they'd been on the right track and Metatron was a key component here. And they had his forwarding address. So, things could have been worse, but Dean still couldn't feel all that chipper.

"How far away are we?" he asked, grimly staring down the road in the hopes of some signs to orient them to where exactly they had been taken.

"Not far," Sam replied as he checked his phone's nav app, thankfully finding service again. "Couple hours. Dean, look, we gotta talk about the consequences if we do this."

"If?" Dean repeated. He shot his brother another stony glare. "This is how we get rid of Amara and free Cas. There's no 'if', it's done."

"Right, obviously. But once we lock Amara back up, you know what that means, right?"

Dean's eyebrows pinched closer together as his scowl darkened on the road ahead. Yeah. He knew what it meant. He'd been trying not to think about it, but after carrying the Mark as long as he had, it was hard to keep the thoughts at bay.

"Neither of us can take the Mark," Sam went on, leaning towards Dean with an insistent sort of urgency. "Or we'll end up right back where we started. We'll be just as screwed because we'll make the exact same choices even if we say we won't."

"I know, Sam!" Dean took a breath, then sighed, relenting. His harsh voice softened somewhat. "I know. But first things first. We gotta get the spell, and that's assuming Metatron even knows it. And then we'll just… figure things out from there. Damn it, Sammy, I don't care what it takes, we have to fix this."

Sam fell silent, but Dean knew his brother agreed. He knew Sam felt responsible for Cas's predicament. Dean didn't blame him for it—not by a long shot—but he also knew there was nothing they wouldn't do to get Cas out, now. And though he knew Sam was right about him not taking the Mark again… and even though he'd agreed… Dean already knew, deep, deep down, that if it came down to it, he would take it on if it meant they could yank Lucifer out and stuff him back in his box.

Not that he planned on sharing that gloomy thought with Sam, and they spent the rest of the ride in silence, flying down the road towards Omaha, and hopefully Metatron, as fast as they could. Now that they had something specific to find, Dean was all the more determined to track the slimy bastard down and extract the answers they needed by any means necessary.

Their luck held; Metatron was right where had had said he would be.

Dean would have found the entire situation more hilariously pathetic, had so much not been hanging in the balance. He and Sam sat in the car, watching in open-mouthed disbelief, as a heavily cloaked Metatron hurried to the door of the crap-hole he was staying in. The way the ex-angel was furtively looking this way and that really only called more attention to himself, as did the thick coat and scarf to hide his face… in the sweltering July heat.

"Unbelievable," Dean grumbled as they waited for the angel to slip inside before stepping out themselves. "This is the guy who made so much trouble for us?"

Sam shrugged, eyes narrowing. "Guess it's not easy going from angel to…"

The elder Winchester glanced at his brother as Sam trailed off. Neither of them wanted to finish the thought, because this was what Cas had gone through, too. On his own. Had that not been the case, perhaps none of this would have even happened.

Setting his face in grim determination, Dean strode forward and kicked Metatron's door in with one tremendous thud. No need for angel blades; he carried only a gun, which he pointed at the startled ex-angel.

"What- YOU? But… how did you find me?" Metatron demanded, eyes opening wide in terror as he stumbled back and tripped over the coffee table. He scrambled backwards, trying to hide behind the rickety couch, gaze flicking to the door only to find it blocked by the enormous and furious presence of Sam Winchester.

"Little tip?" Dean snarled, aiming the gun so that Metatron had no choice but to swallow hard and hold still. "Next time you wanna go into hiding, don't leave a forwarding address. Idiot."

"What do you want?" Metatron whined with a ridiculously transparent attempt to look tough and unafraid. "I didn't do anything. Your buddy ASS-tiel already got his revenge. Why can't you leave me alone?"

"Believe me, the last thing in the world I wanna do to you is leave you alone," snapped Dean. He stalked towards the couch that Metatron was hiding behind, face full of shadow, while Sam shifted around the other direction to cut off Metatron's retreat.

The ex-angel swallowed again, then drew himself up with a blustery glower. "Oh yeah? Well if you're gonna kill me, make it quick or get out of my way. I've got stuff to do."

"Really?" Sam snorted. "Like what?"

"Like… like… just stuff, okay?"

The tough façade faltered when Dean grabbed Metatron's jacket and shoved the angel back into the wall, making no attempt to be gentle. Metatron winced, then recovered with a half-hearted attempt to pull free.

"Guess losing the Mark didn't fix that innate need for violence, huh?"

"So you know about that," Dean said casually, jamming the gun up under Metatron's chin and smiling coldly when the angel's throat bobbed in anxiety. "Good. 'Cause that's what we're here to talk about."

"I don't know anything."

Dean glanced over at Sam, who smirked back at him. Yeah, Metatron had said that just a little too quickly. Pushing the gun in harder, Dean leaned in and snapped,

"Really? You don't know anything about what, exactly?"

Gulping, Metatron shifted his anxious gaze from Dean to Sam, then back. Sam pulled out his favorite knife, twisting it this way and that as he casually watched the light dance off the sharpened blade.

"See," Sam said, "we already know you told Cas about the Darkness."

"She was before my time!"

"But God told you things," Dean pointed out. "You knew she had to be sacrificed. How did they do it? It was some kind of spell, right? You're telling me you never wrote it down?"

"You've seen all the Tablets. Did your prophet ever say anything about it? Didn't think so."

Jaw tightening, Dean slammed Metatron back into the wall, hard enough that there was an audible crack of his head and a splintering of cheap plaster. Metatron winced and raised his hands as though to ward the furious hunter off, as Dean got right in his face and growled,

"Word to the wise, you sad sack: don't ever mention him again if you like all your body parts attached."

"Alright!" Metatron yelped, eyes again darting back and forth between the two hunters. "Look, it was never written down. I didn't even figure out what the spell was for until recently. God never said what it did, he just said someday it might be important, nothing else! But it's the only thing he could have meant. Honestly I- I thought he was drunk so I didn't bother putting it down anywhere, 'cause it was just a bunch of nonsense. But he said it just a few days after letting his family connections slip, so it's gotta be the spell they used to lock her up. Explains why he said to choose carefully, because it brought some 'great curse' or something. Must have meant the Mark."

Dean traded a look with Sam. Great curse or not, they had to try.

"You remember how it went?" he demanded.

Metatron shrugged, fearful expression shifting into a shrewd gleam. "Maybe," he hedged, corner of his mouth twitching. "What's in it for me?"

Dean cocked the gun, making Metatron yelp. "You get to live."

"Oh, come on!" the ex-angel whined. "A little brutish, don't you think? Why shouldn't I get my cut?"

"Because if you don't help us," Sam snapped, "Amara's going to kill you anyway. You. Us. The world. Heaven. Everything. Even God."

Metatron eyed the two sourly, lips puckering up in a pout. Finally, he shrugged. "Fine. But after this, you leave me alone. And that means Ass-tiel, too, no sending your angel tool out to do your dirty work."

Dean's heart twisted at the thought of Cas, how he probably still thought of himself as a tool, too. If they could just get him back… never, ever again. No, when they got him back. Nodding his agreement, the hunter let go of Metatron.

"Got something to write it on?"

"I'm the scribe of God," Metatron snapped, skewering him with a loathing glare. "Of course I have something to write on."

Geez, touchy. While the scribe of God jerked out a notepad and pencil from an inner pocket, Dean glanced over at Sam. The younger Winchester gave him a meaningful look, then cleared his throat.

"As long as you're writing spells down," he started. Metatron dropped the pencil and glowered.

"What."

"There's one more we're gonna need."

Metatron crossed his arms and shook his head. "Do I look like the Encyclopedia Angelica? You think it's my job to just whip out a spell or some information whenever you're in over your heads?"

"Okay. You know what?" Dean had had it. Stowing the gun back in his waistband, the hunter grabbed hold of Metatron's jacket with both fists, hauling him in. Steely, unforgiving eyes burned into the angel's as he ground out in a lethal growl, "Mark or no Mark, I will rip you limb from limb if you don't give me what I need. Lucifer has Cas. And I don't give a damn what I have to do to you to get him back. So…"

Shoving Metatron around the dilapidated couch and pushing him down onto the cushion, Dean waited until the terrified angel had caught his eye again before finishing,

"…like I said. There's one more spell we're gonna need."